SIR,

It is matter of great doubt whether any dedicatory address was ever freer from taint of flattery, than the present; if we pronounce you the best illustrator of, and the best living comment on, Shakespeare, that ever has appeared, or possibly ever will grace the British stage, it is merely echoing the public voice, and concurring with that unparalleled unanimity of praise, which, during so long a course of years, hath attended your incomparable merit.

This compact edition of Shakespeare is offered you as a grateful, tho' small, return, for the infinite pleasure, and extensive information, derived from your exquisite performance, and judicious remarks, by,

SIR, Your most obedient
humble servants,

Shakespeare's admirers, even the enthusiastic ones, who worship him as the god of their idolatry, have never scrupled to admit that his most regular pieces produce some scenes and passages, highly derogatory to his incomparable general merit; he frequently trifles, is now and then obscure, and, sometimes, to gratify a vitiated age, indelicate: but can any degree of critical taste wish the preservation of dark spots, because they have grown upon dramatic sunshine? is not the corrective hand frequently proved to be the kindest? critics, like parents, should neither spare the rod, nor use it wantonly.

There is no doubt but all our author's faults may justly be attributed to the loose, quibbling, licentious taste of his time; he, no doubt, upon many occasions, wrote wildly, merely to gratify the public; as Dryden wrote bombastically, and Congreve obscenely, to indulge the humour, and engage the favour of their audiences: no man can suppose that the former considered his rhiming dialogues as marks of sublimity, nor that the latter imagined his

double entendres were wit; one wanted money, the other fame; for which, pompous sounds and gross ideas, were then popular baits; consequently chaste criticism and delicacy were without scruple, sacrificed to their several views.

Our author did not go quite so far, but very frequently preserved himself free from taint, reining his fiery Pegasus with an able masterly hand; why then should not the noble monuments he has left us, of unrivalled ability, be restored to due proportion and natural lustre, by sweeping off those cobwebs, and that dust of depraved opinion, which Shakespeare was unfortunately forced to throw on them; forced, we say, for it is no strain of imagination, to suppose that the Goths and Vandals of criticism, who frequented the theatre, in his days, would, like those who over-ran the Roman empire, have destroyed and consigned to barbarous oblivion, the sublime beauties which they could not relish; and it is matter of great question with us, whether the fool, in King Lear, was not a more general favourite, than the old monarch himself.

The above considerations first started the idea, and induced the undertaking, of this edition; and as the Theatres, especially

of late, have been generally right in their omissions, of this author particularly, we have printed our text after their regulations; and from this part of our design, an evident use will arise; that those who take books to the Theatre, will not be so puzzled themselves to accompany the speaker; nor so apt to condemn performers of being imperfect, when they pass over what is designedly omitted. Upon this point, however, it is to be observed, that the difference of power, of voice and execution, between different performers, may make one erase more than another; nevertheless we come so near the mark of all, that scarce any perplexity can arise, in tracing them; besides we would hope, that a reasonable standard being thus laid down, professors of the drama will not be so forward, as capriciously and arbitrarily to deviate from it; it is commendable to consult the extent of expression, but thro' idleness to retrench what is beautiful and necessary, or through vanity to retain what is heavy and unessential to action, we deem an affront to the public, and a disgrace to the performer.

As an author, replete with spirited ideas, and a full flow of language, especially one possessing a muse of fire, cannot stop exactly where stage utterance and public attention

require; some passages, of great merit for the closet, are never spoken; such, though omitted in the text, we have carefully preserved in the notes.

And now, being upon this part of our subject, we hold ourselves bound in justice and gratitude to Mr. Garrick, to mention a delicate fear, which he suggested, when we first solicited his sanction and assistance. This fear was, left the prunings, transpositions, or other alterations, which, in his province as a manager he had often found necessary to make, or adopt, with regard to the text, for the convenience of representation, or accommodation to the powers and capacities of his performers, might be misconstrued into a critical presumption of offering to the literati a reformed and more correct edition of our author's works; this being by no means his intention, we hope it will not become liable to such an unmerited misconstruction. In justification of ourselves also, we take this opportunity of declaring, that to expect any thing more of this work, than as a companion to the theatre, is to mistake the purpose of the editors.

Having been long convinced that multiplying conjectural verbal criticisms, tends rather to perplex, than inform readers; we

have given those readings which to us appear most consonant to our author's manner and meaning, without obtruding one capricious opinion on another.

We have furnished an explanation of technical and obsolete terms; pointed out the leading beauties, as they occur, without descanting so much as to anticipate the reader's conception and investigation; we have shewn, with a becoming impartiality, what appear to us to be blemishes and imperfections: the requisites for representing every character of importance are defined, and the mode of performance essential for scenes peculiarly capital, is clearly pointed out.

We have earnestly consulted correctness, neatness, ornament, utility, and cheapness of price; we have avoided all ostentation of criticism, compacting our notes as much as possible; in regard whereof, it may be justly said, that we could have enlarged the number, and extended the phraseology, with much less trouble, than it cost us to give them their present form; it has been our peculiar endeavour to render what we call the essence of Shakespeare, more instructive and intelligible; especially to the ladies and to youth; glaring indecencies being removed, and intricate passages explained;

and lastly, we have striven to supply plainer ideas of criticism, both in public and private, than we have hitherto met with.

A general view of each play is given, by way of introduction.

Though this is not an edition meant for the profoundly learned, nor the deeply studious, who love to find out, and chace their own critical game; yet we flatter ourselves both parties may perceive fresh ideas started for speculation and reflection.

Though it is not strictly within the limits of our plan, to range at large over the extensive field of oratorical correctness, fancy and excellence, as it respects the pulpit, senate, and bar; yet it is hoped we shall so far touch on the essentials of them all, as to give hints, which may prove useful to each of the three degrees.

If we say that an orator, like a poet, to excel, should be born such, it will be no strained assertion; and if we add that he must be more indebted to nature, than a son of the muses, it will be easily admitted. Cultivated imagination, regulated by judgment, constitutes one; who, totally void of external requisites, may shine from his closet, tho' ever so deformed in figure, rude in features, weak in voice, or blemish'd in appearance.

The other, though he may, by peculiar excellence of delivery, and the help of a feeling subject well treated on, be able to impress an audience, with little more than a good voice; yet experience powerfully convinces us that a graceful person, respectable marking features, expressive eyes, and ornamental gesture, are of the utmost utility: it is no argument to say, that a man, as in the case of Sir John Fielding, tho' the visual gates of sympathy be shut, may show strong marks of oratorical merit; for the question naturally follows, would he not be much more powerful in expression, if the indexes of thought enjoyed their natural and proper vigour, especially where particular feelings are to be excited?

It is too common for ignorance and avarice, to misapply the talents of youth, especially in this point of view; many are destined for, and brought up to the most serious, the most important concerns of life, wherein public speaking is required, who labour under glaring defects and imbecilities of expression; hence so many drowsy, irksome preachers, so many senatorical cyphers; and such a number of imperfect pleaders: this parental blunder is much the same as breeding a purblind boy to watchmaking, or one hard of hearing to music.

Supposing a person qualified by nature, let us see how far art may be called in. The complete orator must have a general and intimate knowledge of himself, the world and mankind; a clear conception of the passions and affections of those he is to instruct and persuade; a perfect acquaintance with the various distinctions of virtue and vice; he should be critically intimate with all the beauties and blemishes of the ancient writers; he should

be an historian and a logician; possessing a correct idea of, and taste for, the liberal arts; if a competent knowledge of the mechanical ones is added, so much the better; he should possess a quick conception, and a retentive memory; he should be able to break thro', with ease, the cobwebs of sophistry, and, above all, enjoy that grand ingredient recommended by Cicero, social philosophy.

He should be master of all the arguments, for and against his subject; in short, to sum up all with the great Roman orator's own words, “he should be furnished with logical acuteness, philosophical wisdom, and poetical imagination, embellished with the most polished elocution and gesture of the stage.”

To expatiate upon the obvious advantages deriveable from each of the above qualifications required to complete this very comprehensive character we are considering, would be to spin out a needless length of explanation; which could answer no end, but anticipating the reader's reflective investigation; wherefore we shall quit this point, with observing, that when so many requisites, both internal and external are necessary, it is no wonder that a complete orator is so very scarce a character.

Declaimers, who may be justly stiled the pageants of oratory, possess the flowery, but not the argumentative, part; they appeal boldly to fancy and the passions, but cautiously shun rational inquisition; shew and plausibility completely set up one of this dangerous kind of public speakers, who oftener make proselytes among the weak and ignorant, than sound orators do; as they are mostly pleasing, tho' seldom instructive. Bishop Sprat, speaking of them, in his history of the Royal Society,

emphatically says, “of all the studies of men, nothing can be sooner obtained, than a vicious abundance of phrase; the trick of metaphors, and a volubility of tongue.”

Having come thus far, the three celebrated orators of antiquity seem to fall in the way; Demosthenes, Isocrates and Cicero; the first spoke from the heart, the second from the head; the first was animated by his subject and powerfully enforced it; the second decked it profusely with rhetorical flowers; one flashed conviction, by irresistable imagery; the other amused imagination, with fantastical allusions: of Isocrates we may say, his eloquence resembled a pleasant, but shallow, stream, which tickles the ear with an agreeable murmuring: Demosthenes a deep majestic current, that in its course thunders on attention, and bears down all opposition: Isocrates possesses ease and elegance, Demosthenes power and perswasion; Cicero who rises far above the former, does not in our idea come up to the latter; he is however a very masterly mixture of both, and therefore more likely to obtain general admiration, than either of his predecessors.

Oratory is well defined the exercise of eloquence; eloquence the fluency of speech; and rhetoric the guide of both. It is odd that these three terms should frequently be used as synonimous, when they so essentially differ.

Oratorical composition should be founded on a progressive unity of parts, but not like some of our sermons, which are disgraced with insipid methodical formality commonly stiled heads; it should enter modestly upon, warm into the subject, and, if required, kindle to fire, when the audience are ready to receive heated impressions; an impassioned

exordium generally produces a cold conclusion; and that piece, which endeavours to catch attention too suddenly, will either not catch it at all, or be obliged soon to let it slip.

Fenelon, Archbishop of Cambray, describing the Beauties of Eloquence, speaks to the following effect: “Of what use can any ornament be, that does not tend to prove, to paint, or to affect? those ornaments, which only please, are false beauties; those which please and persuade, solid ones: the just and natural emotions of an orator have much grace and beauty in them; his correct and spirited painting charms us; all the essential parts of eloquence tend to please; but merely pleasing is not the most important aim; ideas and expressions, which only tickle the ear, may be deemed quaint turns; all graces of style, which serve to invigorate persuasion, are to be wish'd for; but all witty, punning conceits, all quibbling upon words, all strained metaphors, all forced glaring imagery, and all luxurance of idea, which only serve to flash and glitter upon fancy, disgrace sound oratory.”

In public speaking, as well as in poetry and painting, art should be carefully concealed: where perceptible, it has a coarse and mean aspect. The orator should so intirely possess his audience of the subject, as to make them forget the speaker.

From the affecting exclamation of Gracchus, mentioned by Cicero, and a dilation of it, we perceive how expression strengthens, or enervates, a subject: “Wretched man that I am! whither shall I turn myself? where can I go? to the Capitol? it swims with my brother's blood! shall I go to to my own house? there to see my wretched mother dissolved in tears, and overwhelmed with

sorrow?” This is a beautiful, bold, and affecting picture of perplexed grief: mark how faded the tints of originality appear in the following faint copy: “I know not where to go, nor whither I shall turn myself, amidst my misfortunes —the Capitol is the place where my brother's blood was shed; and at home I shall find my unhappy mother lamenting her sad condition.” With very narrow comprehension and very dull feelings we may readily perceive the falling off, in this languid extension and variation of phrase.

We shall offer an instance of the turgid and chaste, in the following comparative contrast. Suppose a person addressing an English audience, on a presumed decay of English liberty, should thus declaim; “Most renowned Britons—in the magnanimous volume of Time we may read—even purblind eyes may see the glaring type, that there was a period, when liberty, diaphanous as sun-beams at noon, exhilarated this oceanic isle; when like the bird of Jove it soar'd aloft, and gazed with pleasure on the face of day; now is faintly glimmers, like the fog-wrapped moon, and our glorious eagle is become a bird of night.”

Now let us see how the same subject may be treated, in opposition to this over-charged, bloated, tabernacle harangue; which, delivered in the Moorfield manner, must prove a laughable morsel of mirth, to divert common sense, and astonish ignorance.

“Fellow citizens, there was a time, when liberty diffused its blessings thro' this once happy isle; when its value was known, and its worth revered; when, like the sun, it was a common

comforter; the parent of pleasure, ease, and security: now corruption and our own depravity have brought it to so enfeebled and precarious a state, that every real friend of his country must tremble, as I do, at the painful idea of its speedy and inevitable dissolution.”

If eloquence (a very dangerous weapon in the hands of ill-designing men) is used to any other purposes than the following, we may consider it as in a censurable state of perversion.

It should enforce the clearest proof of any useful truth, with such interesting motives as may affect the hearers, and work their passions to virtuous purposes; to raise indignation against ingratitude; horror against cruelty; detestation against vice; abhorrence against slavery; compassion for misery; love for virtue; reverence for religion; obedience to superiors; and benevolence to all. Thus employed, eloquence appears in its full force and beauty: mere harangues seldom fail to catch the ear, but rarely touch the heart, and as seldom inform the head.

It is necessary that an orator should call the passions to his aid; but then he should be very cautious not to impose on, or assail, them too violently: the one is cruel, the other impolitic. He should be clear in his ideas, and concise in his expression: he should perfectly understand just arrangement of matter, and the proper climax of argument: he should be thoroughly possessed of every principle and part of his subject: he should provide a sufficient number of apposite, affecting figures. Thus prepared, he must speak, and effectually, from an untrammel'd imagination.

The following passages, from Bishop Burnet's discourse on the Pastoral Care, seems well calculated

for the improvement of Lay, as well as Pulpit, speakers. “The extempore orator should frequently converse with himself, to let his thoughts flow freely from him; especially when he feels an edge and heat upon his mind; for then happy expressions will spontaneously come to his mouth. He must also write essays on all kinds of subjects; for, by writing, he will bring himself to a facility and correctness of thinking and speaking: and thus, by close application for two or three years, a man may render himself such a master this way, that he can never be surprized; nor will new thoughts ever dry up upon him. If, in his meditations, happy thoughts and noble pathetic expressions offer themselves, he must not lose, but write them down.”

We perfectly agree with the right reverend Author, that much oratorical merit may be derived from frequent, well regulated soliloquies, and essay-writing; and are induced to offer a few more of his thoughts, though not in the exact words nor confined light wherein he has proposed them.

One most essential point is, that an orator should have a due and deep sense of the truth and utility of his subject: he must have a life and glow in his thoughts, with relation to it: he should very sensibly feel in himself those things which he explains and recommends to others: he should speak as if what he uttered came from the heart: the orator, unless he really is, or seems to be, in earnest, will never make any material impression. There is a degree of authority, even in the simplest matters that can be treated of, if they appear genuine, while the most important points fall into neglect, when conveyed through the cold vehicle of languid expression.

For a general well-compacted idea of oratory, we shall refer to some speeches from Fenelon's Dialogue, between Demosthenes and Cicero.

What! dost thou pretend that I was but an ordinary orator?

Not an ordinary one; for it is not over an ordinary person that I affect superiority. Thou wert doubtless a celebrated orator: thou hadst great parts; but didst frequently deviate from the point wherein perfection consists.

And pray hadst thou no faults at all?

I believe I can be taxed with none, in point of eloquence.

Canst thou compare richness of genius with me? thou, who art dry, unadorned; who art ever confined within narrow and contracted limits: thou dost not amplify any subject: thou, from whom nothing can be retrenched; so impoverished, so starved is the manner in which thy subjects are treated; whereas I extended mine, displaying a copious and fertile genius; which gave judicious critics occasion to say, that nothing could be added to my works.

He from whom nothing can be retrenched, has said nothing but what is perfect.

He to whom nothing can be added, has omitted nothing that could adorn his work.

Thou findest thy discourses more replete with

flashes of wit, than mine—confess honestly, is not this thy claim to superiority?

Since you urge the point, I acknowledge it: my compositions are infinitely more beautified, than thine. They speak far more wit, more ingenuity of turn, more art, more ease. I exhibit the same thing under twenty different shapes: when people heard my orations, they could not help admiring my parts, nor being surprized at my art: they were constantly shouting, and interrupting me with vehemence of applause. Thou must have been heard very quietly; with, I suppose, little or no interruption.

Thy observations on both, are true; but the inference drawn from them, is thy mistake. Thou took'st up the audience with thyself; I engaged it only with the affairs I spoke upon. People admired thee: I was forgot by the auditors; who saw nothing but the course I wish'd them to take. Thou didst entertain with flashes of wit: I struck down with bolts of thunder. Thou madest men say, How finely he speaks! I made them exclaim, Come, let us take the field against Philip! They praised thee: they were too much dispossessed of themselves, to praise me. Thy harangues came forth adorned; none ever discovered in me any ornament: there was nothing in my pieces, but precise, strong, clear argument; and thence impulses like lightning, which nothing could resist. Thou wert a perfect orator, when thou wert like me— simple, grave, austere, without apparent art; in a word, when thou wert Demosthenical: but when wit, turn, and art shone in thy discourses,

then wert mere Cicero; departing so far from perfection, as thou departedst from my character.”

Mr. Rapin, in his Reflections upon Eloquence, observes, that there are two extremes, which should be equally and carefully avoided; the frigid style, and the boyish. The former renders discourses dry and insipid, by a languid flatness of expression; the latter ungrateful and shocking, by a turgid loftiness, and affected amplification. Those who use the frigid style, call in pompous expressions, when the subject requires plain ones; and they who affect the boyish one, employ low expressions in the loftiest themes. The frigid style properly includes all such expressions as are too strong, or too sparkling, strained metaphors, and frequent witticisms: the boyish style comprehends strokes of humour, and quaint conceits, upon serious subjects; loose and heavy repetitions, in that part of an oration which ought to be close and concise; too violent exaggerations, and too laborious figures.

One would think that Malbranche had the enthusiastic religion-mongers of those days in view, when he observed, that one of the greatest and most remarkable proofs of the strong influence that some heated imaginations have over others, is the power of extensive persuasion, without a shadow of proof* ^note








.

Stage delivery (for theatrical expression cannot be stiled oratory) including more variety, and more force of passion, is consequently more difficult. It requires the finest, and most significant feelings, in the performer, to create, by sympathy, proper sensations in the audience.

That noble and almost peculiar sense of human nature, Sympathy, makes us not only share in the distress of a fellow creature, but also pity the miserable brute: it varies shapes and strength, according to the objects and circumstances which occur. There are two principal degrees; sympathy of compulsion and sympathy of election: the first is, when irresistable motives arrest the heart; the second, when it becomes interested, by choice. Compulsive sympathy instructs us to sigh with successless love; to kindle with real or well painted rage; to weep with grief; and to mourn for virtue in distress: elective sympathy is when we make choice of objects in different situations, and become, without any personal knowledge or immediate concern, anxious for their success: in cases of competition, whether of a pleasurable or of a serious nature, man cannot remain a spectator totally indifferent; he must assist one side or the other, with a sympathetic wish: in the choice he is free; yet that choice is frequently so capricious, that no firm reason can be offered, why it becomes fixed.

Imagination is the vehicle which conveys sympathy to, and draws it meliorated from, the heart: that which the Theatre raises, is produced by the bold painting of the Poet's pen, aided by the natural and forcible talents of a good Actor; who is, in every sentence, an illustrative comment upon his author's idea.

This is that kind of sympathy, which the ingenious Dr. Smith, in his Theory of Moral Sentiments, describes to arise from the view of emotions in another person: the passions may be transfused from one person to another, instantaneously, and antecedent to any knowledge of what excited them in the person principally concerned. Grief and Joy, strongly expressed in the look and gestures of any one, exclusive of voice, at once affect the spectator with some degree of a like painful or agreeable emotion: a smiling face is to every one who sees it a cheerful object; as a sorrowful countenance, on the other hand, is a melancholy one.

What the ingenious Professor says of mankind at large, may be brought to the point we have immediately in view. Every faculty in one man, when he judges of propriety, is the measure by which he decides upon the like faculty in another: I judge of your sight, by my sight; of your ear, by my ear; of your reason, by my reason; of your resentment, by my resentment; of your love, by my love: I neither have nor can have any other way of judging, about them. This position granted, we are not to wonder at the endless variety of, and frequent absurd critical opinions upon, the real and mimic stages of life.

If an actor creates sympathy (which to do should be his foremost aim) he will command attention: if not, vain are the best requisites, and all the adventitious aids of theatrical decoration.